


Come the Knives of the Springtime

by jiokra



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, M/M, Marking, Oblivious Tony, Pining, Possessive Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:05:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5430767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/pseuds/jiokra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve attended this fundraiser for one reason and one reason only: Mr. Stark would be there, and Iron Man claimed Mr. Stark always wished Steve would go to one of these functions. Maybe that was the lingo nowadays for something else because Mr. Stark hadn't so much as looked Steve's way all night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come the Knives of the Springtime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dawittiest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawittiest/gifts).



> Hello, lovely recipient! I adored all of your prompts and used as the core plot your prompt for time era compliant Silver Age comics with Steve adjusting to his new life and pining after millionaire industrialist Tony Stark. I had a blast writing your prompts!
> 
> Fic title comes from the song [You Are The Ocean by Phantogram](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QrBtZqjDIfg) (youtube link). This fic is roughly set in early Avengers v1 but with influence from Man Out Of Time for Steve's mindset. This fic is also a fill for my "super soldier serum" square for Cap/Iron Man bingo.

Steve kept one eye on the soap opera escalating between the chancellors of opposing ivy league universities who all but brandished fists, and the other eye on Tony Stark whispering and playing footy with a dame at the bar. Steve kept to himself by an antique bookcase ornamented with aged hardbound tomes, feeling more of a camaraderie with the half-eaten hors d'oeurvers piled in the trash than the schmoozing millionaires. Once he returned to the mansion, he ought to scratch “listen to Iron Man’s sound advice” right off his to-do list. He’d only attended the fundraiser at Iron Man’s insistence that Tony Stark always hoped to see him there, but Iron Man must live in an alternate reality. Otherwise Steve couldn’t comprehend why Iron Man thought it worthwhile to be flat out ignored and left to fend for himself with people who couldn’t find their way out of a Swiss army knife.

Unless Iron Man knew about Steve’s crush and figured he’d knock sense into Steve by making him watch Tony Stark flirt his way through all attendees at the fundraiser. Steve hoped they were better friends than that.

“Who do you think the lucky lady will be tonight?” said a man with a gravelly voice, off by a corner table a nice distance from the bookshelves. Steve extended his ear toward the man, eavesdropping. Other people wouldn’t have caught his words, but the serum had its perks.

The man’s companion chortled. “Certainly not that woman. It’s kind of him to humor her, but she’s too young for him.”

“Stark is barely thirty years old himself.”

“And she’s likely overly inspired by her lower division anthropology courses.”

Both men snickered.

Steve tuned out of the conversation, and, despite the maelstrom within him, stole a glance at the bar, stomach flopping as Tony hooked a lock of hair behind the dame’s ear. The real goof was Steve for believing Iron Man, thinking that Tony Stark might have been eluding to his true inclinations in the matter of the heart. Mr. Stark gazed at the woman, eyes wandering from side-to-side as he took her in. Steve wondered how it'd feel to fall under the mercy of that enthralled stare. He relished in the tiny skip in his heartbeat, then snapped out of it. He ought to walk around and mingle before he did something foolish like take up a seat at the bar, a considerate distance away from Mr. Stark yet close enough to soak in the smooth cadence of his voice.

Steve strolled up to a group of men and a woman, who were around the age he felt himself to be and engaged in a philosophical debate. It was nice to see the men taking her opinions not only seriously but with equal consideration. Instances like that made waking up from the ice less of a nightmare. Noticing Steve’s approach, they opened up a space in their circle.

“Captain America!” they cheered, tossing up their champagne and sloshing foam past the brim. Then they broke out into chatter, speaking too quickly and over each other. Steve couldn’t spin heads or tails over who said what and when.

“Just the man we wanted to see.”

“We contemplated hauling ass and dragging you over here ourselves, but it seems the mere thought summoned you over!”

“Hope I don’t disappoint,” said Steve.

Everyone broke out in laughter, and Steve tugged up a corner of his mouth. The guy to his left patted Steve on the back. “Don’t think that’s possible with you being who you are, and all.”

Another man in the circle beamed. “Have you heard the new Beatles song on the radio?”

Steve internally cringed, recalling the racket which infiltrated every station and that Jan enjoyed humming during the ten minute breaks in Avengers meetings. “Sorry, I got a bit of a tin ear for music.”

When they only nodded with mouths slightly agape Steve pocketed away that people don’t say tin ear anymore. But then they started all speaking at once, and the stumble was long forgotten.

“Do you know Mr. Stark?”

“Of course, he does! I hear Stark pays for all the weapons and gadgets the Avengers use.”

“Well, _I_ hear that Stark…”

Steve stopped listening.

A fair few of the guests in this fundraiser assumed a lot about Tony Stark. Steve only had a handful of anecdotal evidence of what the guests thought, and much of it was gained through eavesdropping, but he liked to think that through his limited interactions with Mr. Stark, he knew him a bit better than this folk. In Steve's view, Mr. Stark didn’t just pay for the weapons and gadgets, he poured time and energy into building them up from scratch, only the stretches of his imagination and ingenuity guiding him. His money extended past the Avengers and lent its hand to the poor and needy, with generous donations funding countless charities and providing aide for volunteers and much needed supplies. Mr. Stark also treated his employees so well that more people worked up the ladder to become promoted than quit and found work elsewhere. Granted, Steve could count on one hand the amount of times he had a conversation with Tony Stark. Most of them were about updates to the Captain America uniform, but one conversation happened just outside of his workstation, which as far as Steve understood was a sacred space for Mr. Stark.

Out of the corner of his eye — what he’d give to have his myopia back in this moment — he saw that darn curvaceous dame laugh sweetly and move to press a hand on Tony’s chest, but Tony caught her hand in his, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. Steve clenched his teeth and worked out the monologue he’d subject Iron Man to when he saw him next.

Worst part was, if Steve just admired Tony Stark for his kindness and intelligence, Steve could rationalize his feelings away as simple and untainted. But despite the fact that Tony’s face bloomed with a smile meant for that woman, Steve couldn’t stop the butterflies from fluttering in his stomach, or the lightning fast quirk of his lip. At the mansion in his quarters, tucked on his bookshelf inconspicuously between history books detailing the twenty years Steve spent under the ice, there was a tiny sketchbook filled with countless drawings of Mr. Stark. Pages of those dazzling blue eyes, the insufferable goatee, his wicked grin. The sketches sprung up from an unquenchable fascination with the contrast between Mr. Stark's bright eyes and his jet black hair. For the longest time, Steve tricked himself into thinking that the sketches were pure artistic curiosity.

He was still staring when Tony shifted, looking off to the side and shyly laughing off whatever his date just said, and he locked eyes with him. Steve despised melodramatics, but still he swore time stopped. Everyone in the room disappeared, leaving only Tony and him caught in this moment.

Then a grotesque, over sized head in a hovering chair materialized in the center of the room. People screamed and rushed away, and Steve swore under his breath, “Chrissake.”

“I am M.O.D.O.K! Mental Organism Designed Only for Killing!” M.O.D.O.K. cackled gleefully at the scrambling crowd. “You are right to fear me! My goal is destruction, my plan only killing!”

Steve surged forward, ripping off his tuxedo and revealing the massive white star and blue stretch of his uniform, the shield bursting to life as he tossed away his shirt and jacket. Once he got around to chatting up Tony Stark, he’d compliment him on the light bending deflector he incorporated into the tuxedo’s thread work to disguise the bulky shield.

“Not so fast, M.O.D.O.K.,” exclaimed Steve, whisking up his hooded mask and slipping it on.

M.O.D.O.K. swiveled around, his bulbous figure quivering as he took Steve in. “Captain America! At last, we meet again!”

“Is that fear I detect in your putrid, sniveling voice?” Steve reached for his shield. It felt good bickering with M.O.D.O.K. This didn’t require him to learn twenty years in two seconds. “Come on, M.O.D.O.K., why waste your breath killing these people when you can try your hand on the _possibility_ of besting me?”

M.O.D.O.K. smacked his lips and narrowed his eyes in consideration. “I accept your terms, Captain America,” he said, and Steve almost guffawed at his stupidity. M.O.D.O.K. tapped some buttons and turned his chair around, darting toward the double doors leading out of the fundraiser and cackling at everyone who dove out of his way.

Steve raced after him, accelerating into a neck breaking pace.

“Whoa, look at him bookin' it,” said one of those kids in the circle he’d been in. “He really is that tuff.”

When Steve broke into the hallway M.O.D.O.K. was nowhere in sight, yet his gleeful cackling sounded down the eastern corridor. Steve wasted no time trailing after him, legs pumping and stretching far as he ran down the hallway. He was about to turn a corner, but then some doors opened, the commotion from inside the fundraiser filling the silent hallway with static. Steve darted a look over his shoulder, and skidded to a halt.

It was Tony Stark, standing in the hallway alone, attaché case swinging against his thigh.

Steve groaned, but M.O.D.O.K.’s hover tech didn’t let him move too fast. Steve could spend a quick minute persuading Mr. Stark to go back inside where it was safe. Just the thought of M.O.D.O.K. returning unexpectedly, as he often did, and harming Mr. Stark made Steve curl his hands into fists. Mr. Stark was a genius, kind, and generous, but he was also a man without any powers. Steve wouldn’t be able to live with himself if an innocent person got harmed on his hands, and somehow the possibility of Mr. Stark being that person made Steve exhausted.

They met halfway down the hallway, staring resolutely at each other.

“Get back inside, Mr. Stark. I’m handling it,” ordered Steve.

Mr. Stark shook his head. “I can help.”

“I said I’m handling it. Go back to your doll.”

“My… _doll_?” Mr. Stark was an excellent actor; his confused expression could have earned him countless awards.

“The woman at the bar. The one whose hand you kissed.”

Mr. Stark simply stared, not comprehending a word Steve said, but soon it dawned on him. “Oh, her. No, ah.” He paused for a quick laugh. “That wasn't what it looked like. Although, it must’ve looked quite like something.”

“Listen. I appreciate your help, but I’m fully capable of dealing with M.O.D.O.K. on my own.” To punctuate this, Steve set a hand on Mr. Stark’s shoulder and squeezed.

Tony Stark’s breath audibly hitched.

Steve squeezed again, furrowing his eyebrows as he felt a hard, solid object where he’d expected flesh. Staring at Mr. Stark full on, Steve grunted, “Explain.”

Mr. Stark exhaled, a nervous little gasp of air. “Maybe it’s better if I….” He averted his gaze and started loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar. Steve swallowed reflexively, unable to deny that he was hopeless enough to get aroused in a predicament like this. When Tony Stark unbuttoned enough to reveal glimpses of the Iron Man armor, Steve lingered on his arousal because it now became the most reasonable thing happening in that hallway.

Countenance schooled, Steve said bluntly, “You’re Iron Man.”

Tony bobbed his head. “Yes.”

Steve's brain couldn’t process much of what he was seeing, so Steve said the first thing that came to mind. “You invited me to the fundraiser because you secretly wanted me there, and then you ignored me the entire time.”

“In my defense,” said Tony, and Steve tried to match that voice to the red and gold armor, “you ignored me, too.”

Damn him, Steve found it impossible to stay angry when he was merely an inch away from Tony’s lips. And he did have a point. “Is the armor in your attaché? Put it on.”

“Sure thing, Cap,” said Tony, flipping open the case. It burst with the armor secretly tucked away inside. Steve turned his back to him and gave him a smidgen of privacy as he dressed into the armor. Listening to various parts click into place, Steve felt his stomach pinch as a coldness seeped into him. When he woke up out of the ice the first friend he made had been Iron Man. The first person to introduce him to the world had been Tony Stark. He had a friend in one and a pathetic infatuation in the other. Now those were gone and replaced by a lie, just like Bucky, his family, his home.

Tony coughed, a rustle of static escaping out of Iron Man’s modulated voice. “Done.”

“Great,” said Steve, and he strained the limits of his hearing for signs of M.O.D.O.K. He pointed up ahead, and the familiar whiny of Iron Man’s jet boots firing up followed. “Let’s go.”

As Steve clamored down the hallway, Iron Man flew past and accelerated ahead of him. Or, rather, Tony Stark did. Feeling like an utter twit, Steve figured he’d been naive to judge the people at the party who speculated over Tony Stark’s infamy. He quickly stomped that idea down with the fact that Tony Stark had fought alongside him, swooped in and carried him through battles, shot blasts at villains who’d come a hairs-width from desecrating Steve Rogers off the face of the Earth. But then Steve just felt weary.

When M.O.D.O.K. appeared after they turned a corner Steve nearly thanked him. The massive toadstool delivered him from his own wretched thoughts. He swung his shield, nicking M.O.D.O.K.’s scalp. Iron Man followed up with a blast right between M.O.D.O.K.’s eyes.

Vibrating with rage, M.O.D.O.K. tapped frantically at the buttons on his armrest, saliva shooting out as he screamed, “You fools! You cannot defeat me! I am M.O.D.O.K. Mental Organism Designed—”

“We know,” said Iron Man dryly.

Steve jumped into the air and twisted into a back flip, extending out a hand to catch the shield as it boomeranged back to him. As soon as he touched ground, he swung the shield right at M.O.D.O.K.’s yellow teeth. Iron Man punched out his gauntlets, then fired out blasts that looked like bolts of lightning. Blinded by the sudden luminosity, Steve pressed a forearm to his eyes and only knew where to catch his shield by relying on his other senses. When the air cleared and all returned to normal M.O.D.O.K. was gone and — Iron Man had collapsed onto the floor.

Steve dropped the shield, terrorized, and fell to his knees, drawing Iron Man into his lap. He wasn’t moving. “Tony!”

After an excruciatingly lengthy beat, the Iron Man face plate flew up. Steve saw Tony Stark’s impossibly handsome face now covered in harsh lines, bloodshot eyes when those dazzling blues ought to be winking at him. The breath Tony drew in chilled Steve, a tinny, weak, quivering noise. “I ought to explain, but there’s no time,” he managed to say, grimacing through every word. “That chest plate you saw — it’s powering my heart. Wasn’t supposed to wear the suit. Didn’t charge for it.”

Steve set a hand atop the glowing light at the center of Tony’s armored chest. “What do we need to do?”

Tony sighed, but that might have been an attempt at a humorless laugh. “We need to get to my workstation. I just need to plug in. Happy’s—” Tony coughed, and his entire body began to seize up in the effort. “Happy’s already out front.”

Steve didn’t waste another second. He hooked an arm under Tony’s knees and the other under his arms, holding his weary form close as he raced down the hallways. Running mainly on adrenaline and numb acceptance, Steve still had half a mind and slammed down the face plate with his chin before anyone saw them. When he burst out of the building, Happy leaned against the passenger door of a long, black limo, lifting his head curiously at the commotion. Steve wondered if he knew about Tony and Iron Man.

Happy rushed to open the door. “And Mr. Stark?” he asked, brows furrowed as he watched Steve rush Iron Man onto the back seats.

“He said to not worry about him,” said Steve, wondering if this conversation was even real, who was telling who the lies now. “Iron Man needs immediate medical attention. It’s only in Mr. Stark’s workstation. Please, hurry.” Slamming the passenger door shut, Steve watched Tony’s still form, mouth drawn in a tight line.

As soon as they pulled up the mansion’s entrance, Steve tore out of the car before Happy fully hit the breaks, Tony limp in his arms just as before. His leather shoes screeched to a halt as he punched in the code to enter the building, knee jostling as he attempted to simmer down his impatience. He contemplated breaking the doors down with a heave of his shoulders, but soon the door unlocked and he simply turned the knob.

Anyone still lingering in the lobby dashed away as Steve barreled toward the elevator. The numbers lighting up above the doors as the elevator traveled to the ground floor only exacerbated his nerves. He wanted to kick and punch everything in sight. Tony was so still in his arms. He couldn’t lose another person, especially not this person, the only person who made him feel like—

 _Ding_ — and then the doors slid open. Steve raced and punched the button for the basement, so hard he feared he broke it. As the doors closed, he allowed himself a moment to look at the Iron Man helmet, frowning at the memory of Tony’s battered face.

Closing his eyes, Steve focused on a single thread of thought to center himself. He imagined his life before the war, before waking from the ice, before the Avengers, when everything had been so simple in comparison. It lived on in the time stream, in Reed Richard's research.

"I'm sorry, so sorry, I shouldn't have done that,” whispered Tony, and Steve almost jumped out of his skin.

“Quiet,” Steve barked. “You’re too weak. Save your strength.”

The rest of the journey was smooth, absolutely no hiccups, and he wasn’t surprised when Tony raised a shaky hand toward the keypad to insert the entry code for the basement. Once inside, Tony pointed at a cupboard. “It’s all in there. Just put the plug into an electrical outlet and the other end into my chest. Turn it on and don’t stop for anything.”

Steve followed his orders, neither pausing even to examine the contraption he found inside the cupboard nor blinking an eye as he hooked Tony’s chest into the machinery. He made the mistake of removing the Iron Man helmet, thinking that Tony might appreciate some fresh air, but instead gave himself a front row view to Tony’s screams and his face twisted in agony as Steve electrocuted him.

He’d set Tony down on the floor for lack of a better option, giving Tony his hand to squeeze. As he watched Tony’s face contort and listened to his cries, he realized the frailty of life laid before him. In Tony, he saw the asthmatic boy from Brooklyn, angry that people couldn’t see past his health and acknowledge the hidden depths he possessed. His resilience then hadn’t been all that different to the Iron Man armor, or the lies Tony had told to get Steve to attend the fundraiser tonight. Although dressed up in different images, not much separated Steve and Tony. Because of that, he couldn't feel betrayed at Tony keeping his identity hidden. If anything, he started loving Tony just a little bit more.

It seemed Tony thought the opposite.

His screams died down, replaced by incessant babbling. “I understand if you want nothing to do with me. I’m a fraud. I manipulated you, deceived you. Besides that, I’m broken — literally. People only suffer around me, and you’re—you—” Tony drew in a breath. “God, Steve, you’re amazing. Even better than anything they said about Captain America. Everything I dreamed about pales in comparison. I love you more than— You deserve more than anything I could—”

Steve’s brain froze once Tony said, “ _I love you more than_.” Surely he’d heard wrong, but one look into Tony’s eyes, the adoration expressed so nakedly, and Steve flushed, averting his gaze. He wasn’t well-versed on how people went about declarations in any decade, but it seemed Tony had his own flair. For both their sakes, Steve ought to be the responsible party and ease the tides. Since Steve never considered himself a wordsmith, he traced his thumb over Tony’s lips, silencing him with his touch. Tony zipped up, then let out a little sigh, leaning into Steve.

“Take it easy,” Steve said, the words drifting like an autumn breeze. Those blue eyes watched him, wavering slightly, and they never could quit making Steve feel like he could take on the world. He kept tracing Tony’s dry lips, weather beaten from the cold of night, wondering how it’d feel to kiss them.

Steve supposed he could stop wondering, as the various twists and turns of the night revealed many secrets of the man before him. Steve had battled worst in life, yet he doubted himself at every second as he curled his legs under him, settling his hands on either side of Tony’s head, and bent down for a kiss.

He’d expected a man who'd been on the brink of death only minutes prior to have met Steve with hesitance, but then he remembered that unlike Steve, Tony had charmed many in his life, and he met Steve’s gentle press with ferocity, immediately deepening the kiss and drawing Steve’s lip between his teeth, caressing the sensitive flesh with his tongue. Steve’s elbows buckled and he tried to match Tony’s readily apparent experience with a clumsy peck, possessing not the semblance of an idea over how to duplicate the intoxicating effects that Tony’s mere tongue incited in Steve. Overwhelmed with nerves and astounded at his sudden lightheadedness, Steve tore away and licked his lips, which tingled at the memory of Tony.

Flashes of that dame at the bar, the one who’d flirted so easily with Tony, assaulted him, and a vile, twisted sensation filled his gut. While she was who-knew-where and Steve had his mouth braced over Tony, he still felt a need to show her up, rip her finely manicured hands off Tony. Since he couldn’t do that — and wouldn’t even if presented the opportunity — Steve dove and began kissing Tony’s neck. Tony lying pliant and at his mercy eased the stress of matching his ferocity. Steve controlled this. The little noises trapped in that throat, he caused those. He widened his mouth, drawing in flesh and scraping his teeth over the skin, blood rushing to his cock as the moans starting pouring out of Tony. _Steve_ caused that, not _her_ ; and Tony loved _him_. He tasted iron on his tongue, the salt of sweat, and the heat building on Tony’s skin that was bound to transform into bruises come morning. Maybe that dame will cross paths with Tony later that week, see those bruises. Steve felt his trousers cling to his cock as come preemptively flowed out, overwhelmed from the sudden ache within him. Steve tore away from Tony’s throat, not fancying the idea of coming in his pants.

Tony looked a right old mess, dizzy eyes half-closed like crescent moons. Steve licked his lips, soaking it all in, willing down his arousal as the satisfaction from making Tony look like that engulfed him.

"Wait," said Tony, the words coming out all tangled up. “You _like_ me?” His face scrunched up in utter bafflement. “ _Why?_ ”

Steve reeled back, the taste of Tony fresh on his tongue. There were so many pink splotches on Tony’s neck, he’d have to wear solely turtlenecks for the entire week, yet he’d still needed to ask? Steve was so stunned he couldn’t speak, but he still thought up a reply.

When he was with Iron Man he didn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing or being misunderstood because Iron Man would spit out slang archaic even to his own ears. And Mr. Stark was a keeper. Generous, kind, wicked smart, but he didn't like to show it and one needed to read between the lines to notice it. Then there was Tony, the mastermind of both identities. The armor went beyond simply Iron Man and dominated his every waking hour. The more Steve wondered about him, the more curious he got. It was stronger than with Mr. Stark yet a hidden corner he'd never ventured down with Iron Man. He could see himself staying there, possibly even coming to see it as home. But it was too soon for wild thoughts like that. Way too soon.

Since Steve couldn’t very well say that, he just shrugged and said, “Beats me. But damn, do I ever.” Then he near growled, needing the closure, “That woman at the bar, the one you were…” The mere thought of it nearly had him diving back to give Tony more bruises.

“She was working for A.I.M. I would have filled you in at the time, but, well, I couldn’t.”

Steve nodded. “Understandable.”

Tony raised shaky hands, tapping away randomly at the armor, which started coming apart at the joints. Once the armor along his arms and shoulders came off, he hoisted himself into sitting, with a newfound energy that bore no resemblance to the frail man he'd only shortly been. Steve watched the muscles in his arms contract as Tony removed the armor over his legs. He drew his gaze along the bare skin of Tony's arms, settling on the golden chest plate. Steve'd have to wear a thick sweater to prevent the metal from chilling him whenever they cuddled. At the thought of enduring the cold after these twenty years he'd spent frozen, Steve laughed.

Unclasping the second jet boot, Tony peered over at him curiously, but when Steve directed a soft smile his way, Tony frowned and stared intently at the armor beneath his fingertips. "I apologize for... For everything," said Tony. "I should have told you earlier. It seems so silly now, to keep my identity secret." He tapped on the jet boot a swingin' beat.

"You aren't a man without good reasons, Ir— Tony, sorry," said Steve. Before he could think too hard on it, Steve set a hand on Tony's shoulder, tracing lines over what little of Tony's back he could reach under the chest plate. Tony shivered; the tapping veered off tempo. "I'm sorry you didn't get to tell me when you were ready. That's not fair."

Tony frowned. "No, this is better. I wouldn't've been ready at any time."

That wasn't what Steve had expected to hear, and he didn't like the connotations buried in those words. "You're my best friend, Tony." _Never hesitate to talk to me. You're the world to me,_ he'd meant to say, but the words frankly scared him.

Tony chuckled. "Do you kiss all your best friends like that?"

"Only one," he said, smiling.

A grin stole Tony's face, the corners of his eyes crinkling and a little laugh bubbling out. But as soon as it'd come, it left. Sobered, Tony settled the jet boot on the floor, moving to stroke the wire still protruding out of the chasm leading to his heart. "I've been working to replace this thing with a magnet. A really, really strong magnet. There's shrapnel in my chest hellbent on killing me — long story, tell you later — and I suppose, maybe now I have incentive to hurry up with the prototype?"

"Meaning?" asked Steve, and added, "Why isn't saving your life enough?"

Tony didn't reply, becoming withdrawn, and Steve let the silence envelope them, knowing he'd stumbled on a conversation best to revisit later. Nudging Tony's knee, Steve pointed over at a makeshift bed off into a corner. "Wanna go over there and critique M.O.D.O.K.'s fighting skills?"

Tony huffed. "I can think of a whole lot of other things I'd like to do with you in a bed, and, believe it or not, none involve M.O.D.O.K." He tossed a wicked look at Steve, waggling his eyebrows in a way that reminded Steve of the times after missions when one of them said something particularly deadpan and neither wanted to succumb to the defeat of being the first to laugh.

Tonight Steve laughed first, throwing his head back for a deep guffaw, and wondered how Tony Stark managed to make him feel so many emotions in the span of an hour. There should've been been more warnings rambled off for side affects of the serum before the scientists injected him with it: _WARNING: Can cause death, inhuman purple flesh, and a fervent need only satiated by Tony Stark._


End file.
